


Oyabun and Obis

by justacookieofacumberbatch (buffyholic)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6314488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffyholic/pseuds/justacookieofacumberbatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock get a little too casual at a formal yakuza wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oyabun and Obis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IamJohnLocked4life](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/gifts), [catie-brie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=catie-brie).



> Written from a prompt by [iamjohnlocked4life](http://iamjohnlocked4life.tumblr.com) to help me pay for 221b Con.
> 
> Do you want one for yourself? Send me an ask on Tumblr or email me at justacookieofacumberbatch[at]gmail[dot]com. (I recommend email.) Commissions are $10 for approximately 1,000 words.
> 
> Cover art by iamjohnlocked4life.

John wouldn’t say he was a gawker. He liked to think that he handled surprising or awe-inspiring situations with aplomb and maturity. But right now, he was gawking.

Sherlock had given him an address and a time, and told him to wear something formal. That was it. John knew it was a case with mob connections. He was expecting a nice Italian restaurant. Maybe a party. He thought he’d been prepared for anything, but he certainly wasn’t prepared to pull up to opulent marble columns and a chandelier hanging outside the front door. He wasn’t prepared for a doorman in tails, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to find Sherlock waiting for him in-- Was that a kimono?

John paid the cabbie as the hotel’s doorman opened the passenger door for him. As he stepped out, he straightened his suit. He’d never felt so underdressed in his life. Sure, it was a decent suit, but this seemed like the type of place where decent wouldn’t fly. Plus, Sherlock looked so incredible that John was sure to look like a schlub in comparison.

Sherlock tapped on his phone before tucking it into some hidden compartment. “You’re late.”

John glanced at his watch. “You texted me fifteen minutes ago.”

“It was twenty.”

“All right. Well, we can quibble about the time, or you could tell me what we’re doing here. And why you’re wearing that.”

“It’s traditional. We’re crashing a wedding.”

“All right. Do you have a cover in mind?” John nudged the small of Sherlock’s back with his fingertips. God, he cut a striking figure.

Sherlock acquiesced to the pressure on his back, heading for the door. “None needed. I did some recce before you got here. Buffet. No placecards. We’ll enjoy a traditional Japanese meal, keep to ourselves, and get out before anyone’s the wiser.”

It wasn’t that Sherlock didn’t look sexy as hell in his usual tailored-to-within-an-inch-of-their-lives suits. One couldn’t help but admire Sherlock’s lean figure in an outfit that left so little to the imagination, but there was just something about the way the kimono draped over Sherlock’s body, almost like a Greek god.

As they approached the entrance to the ballroom, John asked. “What are we looking for?”

Sherlock leaned over his shoulder, murmuring, “The oyabun.”

“Right.” John nodded his head like the word meant something to him.

Sherlock pointed to a half-empty table near the back. A couple chatted, more consumed with each other than anything else in the room, and a young man sat with his feet propped on another chair, the light from a phone illuminating his face and the white cords trailing from his ears. Considering their objective, it was the perfect choice.

Sherlock waved John past and leaned in as they walked. “That’s the man in charge.”

John settled into a chair, curling his hand over the back of the one next to him as Sherlock sat down in it. He leaned close to Sherlock’s ear. “What do we do when we find him?”

Sherlock murmured in John’s ear, “We leave. This is just reconnaissance.”

John nodded, letting the tip of his nose graze Sherlock’s ear. “Have I told you how sexy you look tonight?”

Sherlock’s chin tucked towards his chest, and John could feel Sherlock’s lips form into a smile against John’s cheek. “No.”

“I should probably fix that, shouldn’t I?”

With that, John leaned back in his chair, doing his best to hide a shit-eating grin. Sherlock stared just over John’s ear, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings. Slowly, the shocked expression morphed into one of indignance, but John spoke before it could fully form.

He nodded towards the room. “Pay attention.”

Sherlock huffed, scooting his chair up to the table and plunking his elbows down on the top.

John stood, running his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. “I’ll just go get us something to eat, shall I?”

The buffet was, in a word, expansive, covered in dishes that John couldn’t name. But, he had to look like he belonged. He had to get in and out before someone tried to start a conversation with him. So, smiling politely to the woman starting her way down the other side of the buffet, John grabbed a plate and took one of everything she was having, plus some dumplings that looked promising.

Sherlock sat up straight as a rod when John returned, pretending that he had been surveying the crowd the whole time instead of steaming and stewing. It was so cute.

John sidled up to his seat, sliding the plate onto the table between his and Sherlock’s places. “Care to share, sexy?”

Sherlock blushed, his mouth wobbling under the weight of a suppressed smile. “Needs must.”

John sat just as a member of the wedding party tapped on a microphone and asked for everyone’s attention. Grabbing a dumpling as the man gave his regards to the newly wedded couple, John leaned into Sherlock’s space, grazing his lips over Sherlock’s earlobe. “Do you know the best part about finger food?”

Sherlock’s Adam’s apple bobbed, though he had yet to take a bite of his dinner. “What?”

John smirked against Sherlock’s ear, peering from the corner of his eye at their table mates. The young man on his phone was still engrossed, tinny music resonating off his eardrums, and the couple across from them had turned to listen to the speech.

His fingers traced the edge of the top flap of the kimono, up from Sherlock’s knee. “You only need one hand to eat it.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said, half a question, half a sigh, and John slipped his hand underneath. He caressed his way up Sherlock’s thigh, still covered by the bottom flap, until he reached Sherlock’s groin.

John cupped his palm over Sherlock’s groin, which--if not wholly enthusiastic--showed some interest. “Is this going to be too distracting for you?”

Sherlock turned his head, his lips grazing John’s on their way to his ear. “Tease.”

John opened his mouth in mock shock. “I’ll teach you to call me that.”

Sherlock scoffed, his breath raising goosebumps on John’s neck. “Words, words, words.”

If Sherlock could see John’s eyes in that moment, the wicked glint in them might have turned him into a puddle, but John had other tactics in mind. So, he grabbed the edge of the bottom flap of Sherlock’s kimono until his fingers could connect with hot, hard, bare cock.

“No pants?” John asked.

Sherlock’s breath was hot and heavy. “My research-- I found--”

John tickled behind Sherlock’s balls, the heel of his hand pressing to the base of his cock, and Sherlock’s words broke off into a low grunt.

John smirked. “You were saying?”

“There were conflicting rep-- Oh,” Sherlock huffed as John’s fingers curled over Sherlock’s cock. God, the skin was like silk. Sherlock’s skin was soft everywhere, but John could never quite get over how soft the skin of his cock was.

“Have you figured out who the…” John trailed off, trying to remember the word when Sherlock’s cock and breath and body were invading every wrinkle of his brain.

“Oyabun,” Sherlock grunted, his fingers digging into John’s bicep.

“Right. Him.” John circled his thumb over Sherlock’s slit, spreading slickness, and making Sherlock’s hips quiver.

Sherlock growled, low enough for only John to hear but feral all the same. “I don’t care. Take me home.”

John flinched. “Really? Don’t you need to--”

“Take me home, John. Now.”

John took a hearty bite of dumpling, saying around the food. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

With one more swipe of his thumb through a bead of precome, John extricated himself, rearranging Sherlock’s clothes into proper order.

Sherlock sighed. “Actually, I did.”

 

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art] for Oyabun and Obis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6343411) by [IamJohnLocked4art (IamJohnLocked4life)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamJohnLocked4life/pseuds/IamJohnLocked4art)




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